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from the Institute of Environment Philosophy and Public Policy

Sir Uvedale Price's Essay On The Picturesque

Chapter 1

There is no country, I believe – if we except China – where the art of laying out grounds is so much cultivated as it now is in England. Formerly the decorations near the house were infinitely more magnificent and expensive than they are at present; but the embellishments of what are called the grounds, and of all the extensive scenery round the place were much less attended to; and, in general, the park, with all it’s timbers and thickets, was left in a state of picturesque neglect. As these embellishments are now extended over a whole district, and as they give a new peculiar character to the general face of the country, it is well worth considering whether they give a natural and a beautiful one – and whether the present system of improving – to use a short, though often an inaccurate term – is founded on any just principles of taste.

In order to examine the question, the first enquiry will naturally be, whether there is any standard to which, in point of grouping and of general composition, works of this sort can be referred; any authority higher than that of the persons who have gained the most general and popular reputation by those works, and whose method of conducting them has had the most extensive influence on the general taste? I think there is a standard – there are authorities of an infinitely higher kind – the authorities of those great artists who have most diligently studied the beauties of nature, both in their grandest and most general effects, and in their minutest detail – who have observed every variety of form and of colour – have been able to select and combine, and then, by the magic of their art, to fix upon the canvass all these various beauties.

But however highly I may think of the art of painting, compared with that of improving, nothing can be farther from my intention – and I wish to impress it in the strongest manner on the reader’s mind than to recommend the study of pictures in preference to that of nature, much less to the exclusion of it. Whoever studies art alone, will have a narrow pedantic manner of considering all objects, and of referring them solely to the minute and practical purposes of that art – whatever it be – to which his attention has been particularly directed. Of this Mr Brown’s followers afford a very striking example; and if it be right that everything should be referred to art, at least let it be referred to one, whose variety, compared to the monotony of what is called improvement, appears infinite, but which again falls as short of the boundless variety of the mistress of all art.

The use, therefore, of studying pictures, is not merely to make us acquainted with the combinations and effects that are contained in them, but to guide us, by means of those general heads – as they may be called – of composition, in our search of the numberless and untouched varieties and beauties of nature; for as he who studies art only will have a confined taste, so he who looks at nature only, will have a vague and unsettled one; and in this more extended sense I shall interpret the Italian proverb, “Chis’insegna, ha un pazzo per maestro,” – He is a fool who does not profit by the experience of others.

We are therefore to profit by the experience contained in pictures, but not to consent ourselves with that experience only; nor are we to consider even those of the highest class as absolute and infallible standards, but as the best and the only standards we have; as compositions, which, like most of the great classical authors, have been consecrated by long uninterrupted admiration, and which therefore have a similar claim to influence our judgement, and to form our taste in all that is within their province. These are the reasons for studying copies of nature, thought the original is before us, that we may not lose the benefit of what is of such great moment in all arts and sciences, the accumulated experience of past ages; and with respect to the art of improving, we may look upon pictures as a set of experiments of the different ways in which trees, buildings, water, &c. may be disposed, grouped and accompanied, in the most beautiful and striking manner, and in every style, from the most simple and rural, to the grandest and most ornamental. Many of those objects, that are scarcely marked as they lie scattered over the face of nature, when brought together in the compass of a small space of canvass are forcibly impressed upon the eye, which by that means learns how to separate, to select, and to combine.

Who can doubt whether Shakespeare and Fielding had not infinitely more amusement from society in all its various views than common observers? I believe it can be as little doubted, that the having read such authors may give any man, however acute his penetration, more enlarged views of human nature in general, as well as a more intimate acquaintance with particular characters, than he would have had from the observation of nature only; that many combinations of characters and of incidents, which might otherwise have escaped his notice, would forcibly strike him, from the recollection of scenes and passages in such writers; that in all these cases, the pleasure we receive from what passes in real life is rendered infinitely more poignant, by a resemblance to what we have read, or have seen on the stage. Such an observer will not divide what passes into scenes and chapters, and be pleased with it in proportion as it will do for a novel or a play, but he will be pleased on the same principles as Shakespeare or Fielding would have been. The parallel that I wish to establish is very obvious: the works of genius in writing awaken and direct our attention towards many striking scenes and characters, which might otherwise escape us in real life, and the works of genius in painting point out to our notice a thousand effects and combinations of the happiest, though not of the most obvious kind, in real scenery.

Had the art of improving been cultivated for as long a time, and upon as settled principles as that of painting, and were there extant various works of genius, which, like those of the art, had stood the test of ages ( though from the great change which the growth and decay of trees must produce in the original design of the artist, this is hardly possible) there would not be the same necessity of referring and comparing the works of reality to those of imitation; but as the case stands at present, the only models of composition that approach to perfection, the only fixed and unchanging selections from the works of nature united with those of art, are in the pictures and designs of the most eminent masters.

But although certain happy compositions, detached from the general mass of objects and considered by themselves, have the greatest and most lasting effect both in nature and painting; and though the painter, in respect to his own art, may think of those only, and give himself no concern about the rest, he cannot do so if he be an improver as well as a painter; for he might then neglect or injure what was essential to the whole, by attending only to a part. By this we may peceive a great and obvious difference between a painter who confines himself to his own profession, and one who should add to it that of an improver; the first would only have to observe what formed a single composition or picture, which he might transfer upon his canvass; the second must consider the whole range of scenery in which not only the most striking pictures or compositions are to be shown to advantage, but where all the intermediate parts, with all their bearings, relations, and connections, must be taken into the account. I have supposed, what I wish were oftener the case, an union of the two professions; for it can hardly be doubted, that he who can best select the happiest compositions from the general mass of objects, and knows the principles on which he makes those selections, must also be the best qualified, should he turn his thoughts that way, to arrange the connections throughout an extensive scenery. He must likewise be the most competent judge – and nothing in the whole art of improvement requires a nicer discrimination – where, and in what degree, some inferior beauties should be sacrificed, in order to give greater effect to those of a higher order. I am far from meaning by this, that every painter is capable of becoming an improver in the good sense of the word, but only such as to a liberal mind, join a strong feeling for nature as well as art, and have directed their attention to the arrangement of real scenery; for there is a wide difference between looking at nature merely with a view to making pictures, and looking at pictures with a view to the improvement of our ideas of nature: the former often does contrast the taste when pursued too closely; the latter, I believe, as generally refines and enlarges it. The greatest painters were men of enlarged and liberal minds, and well acquainted with many arts besides their own. Leonardo da Vinci, Michael Angelo, Raphael, Titian, were not merely patronised by the sovereigns of that period; they were considered almost as friends by such men as Leo, Francis, and Charles, and were intimately connected with Aretino, Castiglione, and all the eminent wits of that time. Those great artists – nor need I have so far back for examples – considered pictures and nature as throwing a reciprocal light on each other, and as connected with history, poetry, and all the fine arts; but the practice of too many lovers of painting has been very different, and has, I believe, contributed in a great degree, and with great reason, to give a prejudice against the study of pictures as a preparation to that of nature. In the same manner that many painters consider natural scenery merely with a reference to their own practice, many connoisseurs consider pictures merely with a reference to other pictures, as a school in which they may learn the routine of their connoisseurship – that is an acquaintance with the most prominent marks and peculiarities of different masters: but they rarely look upon them in that point of view in which alone they can produce any real advantage – as a school in which we may learn to enlarge, refine, and correct our ideas of nature, and in return, may qualify ourselves by this more liberal course of study, to be real judges of what is excellent in imitation. This reflection may account for what otherwise seems quite unaccountable – namely, that many enthusiastic admirers and collectors of Claude, Poussin, &c. should have suffered professed improvers to deprive the general and extended scenery of their places of all that those painters would have most admired and copied.

The great object of our present inquiry seems to be, what is that mode of study which will best enable a man, of a liberal and intelligent mind, to judge of the forms, colours, effects, and combinations of visible objects – to judge of them either as single compositions, which may be considered by themselves without reference to what surrounds them, or else as parts of scenery, the arrangement of which must be more or less regulated and restrained by what joins them, and the connection of which with the general scenery must be constantly attended to? Such knowledge and judgement comprehend the whole science of improvement with regard to it’s effect on the eye: and I believe can never be perfectly acquired, unless to the study of natural scenery, and of the various styles of gardening at different periods, the improver adds the theory at least of that art, the very essence of which is connection – a principle of all others the most adapted to correct the chief defects of improvers. Connection is a principle always present to the painter’s mind, if he deserve that name; and by the guidance of which he considers all sets of objects, whatever may be their character or boundaries, from the most extensive prospect to the most confined wood scene: neither referring everything to the narrow limits of his canvass, nor despising what will not suit it, unless, indeed, the limits of his mind be equally narrow and contracted; for when I speak of a painter, I mean an artist, not a mechanic.

Whatever minute and partial objections may be made to the study of pictures for the purpose of improvement – many of which I have discussed in my letter to Mr Repton – yet certainly the great leading principles of the one art – as general composition – grouping the separate parts – harmony of tints – unity of character, are equally applicable to the other. I may add also, what is so very essential to the painter, though at first sight it seems hardly within the province of the improver – breadth and effect of light and shade.

These are called the principles of painting, because that art has pointed them out more clearly, by separating what was most striking and well combined, from the less interesting and scattered objects of general scenery; but they are in reality the general principles on which the effect of all visible objects must depend, and which it must be referred.

Nothing can be more directly at war with all these principles, founded as they are in truth and in nature, than the present system of laying out grounds. A painter, or whoever views objects with a painter’s eye, looks with indifference, if not with disgust, at the clumps, the belts, the made water, and the eternal smoothness and sameness of a finished place. An improver, on the other hand, considers these as the most perfect embellishment, as the last finishing touches that nature can receive from art; and, consequently, must think the finest composition of Claude, whom I mention as the most ornamented of all the great masters, comparatively rude and imperfect; though he probably might allow, in Mr Brown’s phrase, that it had “capabilities”.

The account in Peregrine Pickle, of the gentleman who had improved Vandyke’s portraits of his ancestors, used to strike me as rather outre; but I met with a similar instance some years ago, that makes it appear much less so. I was looking at a collection of pictures with Gainsborough; among the rest the housekeeper showed us a portrait of her master, which she said was by Sir Joshua Reynolds; we both stared, for not only the touch and the colouring, but the whole style of the drapery and the general effect had no resemblance to his manner. Upon examining the housekeeper more particularly, we discovered that her master had had everything but the face – not retouched from the colours having faded – but totally changed, and newly composed, as well as painted, by another – and, I need not add, an inferior hand.

Such a man would have felt as little scruple in making a Claude like his own place, as in making his own portrait like a scare-crow.

But no one, I believe, has as yet been daring enough to improve a picture of Claude, or at least to acknowledge it; yet I do not think it extravagant to suppose that a man, thoroughly persuaded, from his own taste and from the authority of such a writer as Mr Walpole, that an art unknown to every age and climate – that of creating landscapes – had advanced with master-steps to vigorous perfection; that enough had been done to establish such a school of landscape as cannot be found in the rest of the globe; and that Milton’s description of Paradise seems to have been copied from some piece of modern gardening; - that such a man, full of enthusiasm for this new art, and with little veneration for that of painting, should choose to show the world what Claude might have been, had he had the advantage of seeing the works of Mr Brown. The only difference he would make between improving a picture and a real scene, would be that of employing a painter instead of a gardener.

What would more immediately strike him would be the total want of that leading feature of all modern improvements – the clump; and of course he would order several of them to be placed in the most open and conspicuous spots, with, perhaps, here and there a patch of larches, as forming a strong contrast in shape and colour to the Scotch Firs. His eye, which had been used to see even the natural groups of trees in improved places, made as separate and clump-like as possible, would be shocked to see those of Claude – some with their stems half concealed by bushes and thickets; others standing alone, but, by means of those thickets, or of detached trees, connected with other groups of various sizes and shapes. All this rubbish must be totally cleared away, the ground made everywhere quite smooth and level, and each group left upon the grass perfectly distinct and separate.

Having been accustomed to whiten all distant buildings, those of Claude, from the effect of his soft vapoury atmosphere, would appear to him too indistinct; the painter, of course, would be ordered to give them a smarter appearance, which might possibly be communicated to the nearer buildings also. Few modern houses or ornamental buildings are so placed among trees, and partially hidden by them, as to conceal much of the skill of the architect, of the expense of the possessor; but in Claude, not only ruins, but temples and palaces, are often so mixed with trees, that the tops overhang their balustrades, and the luxuriant branches shoot between the openings of their magnificent columns and porticos; as he would not suffer his own buildings to be so masked, neither would he those of Claude; and those luxuriant boughs, with all that obstructed a full view of them, the painter would be told to expunge, and carefully to restore the ornaments they had concealed.

The last finishing, both to places and pictures, is water. In Claude, it partakes of the general softness and dressed appearance of his scenes, and the accompaniments have, perhaps, less of rudeness than in any other master. One of my country men at Rome was observing, that the water in the Colonna Claude had rather too dressed and artificial an appearance. A Frenchman, who was also looking at the picture, cried out, “Cependant, Monsieur, on pourroit y donner une si belle fete!” This was very characteristic of that gay nation, but it is equally so of a number of Claude’s pictures. They have an air de fete beyond all others; and there is no painter whose works ought to be so much studied for highly dressed yet varied nature. Yet, compared with those of a piece of made water, or of an improved river, his banks are perfectly savage; parts of them covered with trees and bushes that hang over the water; and near the edge of it, tussucks of rushes, large stones, and stumps; the ground sometimes smooth, sometimes broken and abrupt, and seldom keeping, for a long space, the same level from the water – no curves that answer each other – no resemblance, in short, to what the improver had been used to admire: a few strokes of the painter’s brush would reduce the bank on each side to one level, to one green; would make curve answer curve, without bush or tree to hinder the eye from enjoying the uniform smoothness and verdure, and from pursuing without interruption the continued sweep of these serpentine lines; - a little cleaning and polishing of the foreground, would give the last touches of improvement, and complete the picture.

There is not a person, in the smallest degree conversant with painting, who would not at the same time be shocked and diverted at the black spots and the white spots – the naked water – the naked buildings – the scattered unconnected groups of trees, and all the gross and glaring violations of every principle of the art; and yet this, without any exaggeration, is the method in which many scenes worthy of Claude’s pencil, have been improved. It is then possible to imagine, that the beauties of imitation should be so distinct from those of reality, nay, so completely at variance, that what disgraces and makes a picture ridiculous, should become ornamental when applied to nature?

From my own knowledge I can say, that however valuable the study of pictures may be for giving perfection to professors of landscape gardening, the painting of them does not always produce this effect. Artists, and especially young artists, have, not unfrequently, their tastes so much narrowed by their devotion to certain styles of subject, as to be incapable of enjoying, or even of tolerating any thing in nature, however excellent it may be, if it be of a different character from that which they affect in their works. By attempting to become artists, they have ceased to be men, or to be able to sympathise with the universality of human feelings. It would be vain to expect that landscape gardeners could be made of such men, with the hope of their producing scenes which should give general delight to minds expanded by education, and the love of nature. I have sometimes travelled through the most interesting countries with individuals of this cast, and found that great as was the delight which I was experiencing from the contemplation of the scenes we passed through, nothing could call forth one exclamation of pleasure from my companions, until something chanced to arise before their eyes of a character in harmony with that of the subjects they were most prone to paint. Such men would pass over nine-tenths of the finest places in England, and refuse to give any other opinion than that all was barren. That artist, indeed, who has followed and observed nature throughout all her different walks – who can draw enjoyment from associating himself with her in her softest and quietest scenes, and in her more placid moods, as well as when she wildly wanders amid the dark woods and rocky fastnesses, and by the thundering cataracts of her mountains – such a man as this, I say, may well prove a profound master, not only in the composition of pictures on canvass, but in that also of those which may be created in actual landscape; but for excellence in that generalization necessary for landscape gardening, I consider that a very universal study of pictures will do more to accomplish the individual, than the particular practice of any one style of painting them. It appears indeed to me, that nothing can possibly tend more to educate the mind, for the just conception of such a true taste in landscape gardening as may enable its possessor to prosecute this delightful art with the hope of generally awakening agreeable associations in cultivated minds, than the frequent and extensive study of works of the best landscape painters, modern as well as ancient. Nay, I cannot doubt that the great growth of the art of landscape painting, and the immense multiplication of that art in our days, as well as of the art of landscape drawing and engraving, all of which are daily increasing the taste for the enjoyment of the works produced by them, must have a tendancy to augment the general love of nature, and so to multiply the individuals of that cultivated class who are prepared to receive agreeable impressions from its happier combinations…………